


Outside the Parameters

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: December 2x3 dues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 18:44:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2662445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a mission, Trowa and Duo learn how to forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outside the Parameters

A/N: So this won’t be my best. I’m a little tired and drunk but it’s f***ing Friday and I wanted to try to get 1k of porn out for it. So, after a night of drinking with my parents, I sit in my childhood bed, under the comforter that has been on this bed since Gundam Wing was on CN, and write porn and a strangely autobiographical author’s note. Yes, yes this is me when I’m drunk. Don’t do drugs, kids.  
A/N #2: Keeping this AN even though I had to go back and finish this on Sunday. Just a reminder that I am silly and stupid.   
A/N#3: Notes about Trowa’s tattoo are at the end.

Warnings: sex, language, angst, probs spelling and grammar issues - I’m sorry!  
Pairing: 2x3

Outside the Parameters

He was down to his shirtsleeves, rolled up and shoved as far up his elbows as he could get them, his black trousers and suspenders and he was typing up the report when Duo slammed into the room, breathing heavy, eyes a little wild and unfocused until they landed on Trowa.  
And then they narrowed, the dark blue gaze zeroing in on the bloodstains on Trowa’s back, left side and front.  
Duo was halfway across the room, mouth set in a tense, grim line before Trowa realized what he was so focused on.  
“It’s not my blood,” he informed Duo and then turned back to his computer, back to the report, back to the assurance to their superiors that the job had been completed, the mission a success, and their prized agents intact. More or less.  
Duo still looked wary, still came and leaned against the back of Trowa’s chair and glanced at his bloody shirt before zeroing on the report, on the clinical language that Trowa was using to describe the assassination they had just carried out.  
“No, ‘course it isn’t,” Duo muttered. “You’d have to have a heart to pump that blood.”  
Trowa’s fingers tensed, froze and even twitched as he held them over the keys and then he drew in a deep breath and forced himself to finish the report, forced himself to finish describing the summary execution, the way he and Duo had infiltrated the terrorist cell, had gained their trust, had used it against them and murdered the charismatic leader just as he was preparing to stage a public demonstration.  
Duo had had the task of distracting the others, of making sure Trowa was in the clear to take out the man who had given them food and shelter for the last six weeks, who had welcomed them to his organization like long lost brothers, who had fought against Trowa, had tried to dodge the knife to his kidney and made Trowa miss, who had taken twenty minutes to die, bleeding out in Trowa’s arms, clutching him and demanding to know why?  
“I have a heart,” Trowa growled, angry at Duo, angry at himself because he did have a heart and he felt - he felt too much in that moment, as he signed his and Duo’s names and sent the report in.  
Duo snorted derisively.  
“Yeah, sure.” He leaned against the wall and nodded his head, indicating the blood.  
“That his?”  
“Whose else?”  
“Doesn’t look clean.”  
“I held him while he died.”  
That took Duo aback, gave him pause, and as much as Trowa wished he hadn’t said anything, wished he had kept his mouth shut, he took a miniscule measure of satisfaction in making Duo Maxwell question his assumptions about Trowa.  
“How… it took a while,” Duo answered his own question.  
Trowa nodded.  
“Why’d you let him -”  
“I didn’t let him suffer,” Trowa interrupted, furious with Duo for what he had been about to say, furious with himself for the truth of the matter - the fact that he had let Eduardo suffer. “The knife blade broke on his sternum. I couldn’t…”  
“You woulda made it worse,” Duo nodded.  
Duo stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head.  
“This was some fucked up shit,” he murmured, his voice low, as though Une could overhear him even though she was millions of miles away, safe on Earth, barricaded in her Brussels office.  
“It had to be done.”  
“Yeah, well, it was still fucked up. You telling me you were okay with this, Mr. Heartless? That killing Eduardo sits okay with you? You think what we did today - you think that’s really going to make the world a better place? Killing that idealistic fool who just wanted the kids on the colonies to stop starving? You think he was that much of a threat? You think he needed to bleed out in your arms?”  
“No,” Trowa answered, clean and simple and so damn honest it burned his throat.  
And shut up Duo once again, as, once again, he had to question his assumptions about Trowa.  
They didn’t get partnered together often, and rarely spent time together - Heero and Duo formed their own survivors unit while Trowa tended to spend whatever leisure time he wanted to spend in the company of others with Wufei. In the ten years since the end of the war, Trowa could count on one hand the number of times he and Duo had had a conversation lasting more than five minutes - and nearly all of those, before this mission, had been with Quatre present.  
Duo reached out and plucked at Trowa’s shirt. Trowa flinched away from the touch, reached out instinctively and caught Duo’s wrist.  
Duo arched an eyebrow, but he didn’t struggle.  
“You just gonna sit there in his blood?”  
Trowa let him go and stood up. He shrugged out of the suspenders and tugged the dress shirt free of his trousers.  
Duo watched him.  
Trowa unbuttoned the shirt and then pulled it off, jerking the cuffs over his wrists and then he balled it up and threw it at Duo.  
Duo caught it and glared.  
“What the fuck?”  
“I have a heart, Duo,” Trowa snapped. “And yes, today was some fucked up shit and I’m not okay with it but I was the one who had to do it, who had to hold Eduardo while he died and listen to him beg me.”  
“He begged?” Duo seemed shocked and a little disappointed.  
“Not for his life,” Trowa sneered. “For me to do something for the fucking children.”  
Duo’s eyes went a little wide, but then he shook his head and tossed the shirt into the wastebasket.  
“Fucking idealistic idiot,” he muttered.  
Trowa agreed with him, but it didn’t change the fact that Trowa felt as though today he had done more harm than good.  
Duo glanced at Trowa’s bare chest and he frowned.  
Trowa followed his gaze, down to the tattoo on his left side, stretching from the top of his ribcage and down to his hip.  
Arbeit Macht Frei  
“Didn’t realize you were German,” Duo said.  
Trowa snorted derisively.  
“I’m not.”  
Duo arched an eyebrow at his tone.  
“I’m Jewish.”  
“I know.”  
It was Trowa’s turn to raise an eyebrow. He didn’t think Duo knew that - didn’t think any of the others cared much about his personal beliefs and he couldn’t remember having ever said anything in front of Duo, in front of any of them.  
“You know German,” Trowa prompted.  
Duo nodded. Of course Duo knew German. He was from L2 and he was a spacer - he knew German and French better than English, knew all about communism and classical anarchism and, more than that, devoured tech manuals as though they were candy and even now, long after the Terran countries had lost their identities, the best tech manuals were still written in German.  
He shoved away from the wall and stepped closer to Trowa.  
“Work Makes You Free,” Duo translated, his fingers running down the letters. He frowned again, maybe the words tugging at a memory. “Why’d you get it?”  
Trowa glanced down, at Duo’s hand resting on the waistband of his trousers, his thumb hooked just inside and he felt a strange coil of tension and… lust?   
He stepped back.  
“To remember,” Trowa said simply. It was too much to explain - too much of history, too much of himself. If Duo was really curious, he was resourceful.  
Duo glanced at the bloody shirt in the wastebasket.  
“Remembering’s never been my problem,” he muttered.  
Trowa smoothed a hand over his tattoo, over the lingering feel of Duo’s touch.  
No, remembering had never been Duo’s problem. Just as forgetting had never been Trowa’s. He didn’t understand how Duo did it - how he possibly had the emotional capacity to remember and feel everything that had happened to him. Trowa always fought so hard to stuff everything away, to bury it and forget it and never feel it again and he knew he would have gone insane by now, to remember all that Duo remembered, to feel all that Duo felt.  
Duo shot him a crooked grin.  
“Wanna teach me how to forget?”  
Trowa arched an eyebrow. The innuendo was undeniably there and he wondered… he wondered if Duo was just teasing, or if he really wanted that.  
“We could play chess,” Trowa shrugged. “The report is filed, but it’ll be a few hours until our extraction. We could -”  
Duo kissed him, with too much teeth, and Trowa felt the sharp tang of blood and part of him wanted to pull away, to smear his blood on Duo and say there, there’s your proof I have a heart. But a much larger part of him -  
He gripped the back of Duo’s head, tugged on his hair sharply and Duo hissed but he took the hint, gentled the kiss and Trowa rewarded him by sucking on his lower lip, teasing it between his own teeth and Duo groaned, the sound practically feral.  
Trowa tugged at Duo’s sweater, grappling with the thick weight and Duo’s limbs until Duo pulled away from his mouth with a grunt and pulled it off himself.  
And then Duo was kissing him again, tongue caressing Trowa’s bloody lip and tasting him and fuck -  
Trowa absolutely should not be enjoying this so much. He should focus on just the physical sensations, stimuli and reaction and not -  
Duo smirked against his lips and tugged at Trowa’s trousers.  
Trowa stilled his hands.  
Duo pulled back and arched an eyebrow.  
“This is one time, this is nothing,” Trowa had to say.  
Duo’s eyes narrowed and Trowa could see the play of anger in those blue depths, could see that Duo wanted to offer some sarcastic quip but amazingly he didn’t.  
“It’s just about forgetting,” Duo said slowly, his voice cold and Trowa fought against a shiver.  
He let go of Duo’s hands and pulled him close again, ran his hands over Duo’s lithe, powerful body and he could feel Duo’s anger dissipate at his touch, could feel Duo lean into him and hear his breath grow ragged as Trowa eased his hands down Duo’s back to his hips and his ass.  
Duo made quick work of removing Trowa’s trousers and boxers, shoving them down with his hands and then using his foot to pull them the rest of the way down, in a move that Trowa filed away for later use. It was efficient.  
Duo’s left hand latched onto Trowa’s cock while his right went to Trowa’s shoulder, pushing him towards the bed.  
Patience had never been Duo’s strong point, Trowa knew, and in this, well, in this Trowa felt impatient himself. The longer this too, the more likely it was to make him start thinking again. He needed the white out of orgasm, the frantic struggle of his lungs and pulse as he raced to that cusp and he needed, very desperately, for Duo to stop thinking as well and to stop looking at him like that.  
Trowa led Duo moved them towards the bed and once he felt the mattress dig into the back of his thighs he stopped and pulled down Duo’s trousers and underwear, feeling the hard, thick shaft of his cock spring free and it sent his pulse racing.  
“How are we doing this?” Duo asked, his breath warm and wet against Trowa’s ear before he bit down on the lobe and Trowa swore and arched against him.  
Fuck. No one had ever done that to him before. He had never experienced that sensation.  
It took him a moment to come back to himself, to remember what the fuck was going on, and it was difficult, because Duo was licking at his lobe, at the whorls of his ear and breathing on the wet flesh and -  
“There’s no lube.”  
Trowa had been through their bags, had allowed his paranoia free reign when they set up here three days ago as their extraction point and he felt confident Duo had done the same. He would be disappointed, in fact, if Duo hadn’t gone through his bags.  
“Sixty nine?” Duo suggested, eyes closed and mouth open in a silent moan as Trowa tugged on his cock.  
If that was going to be the case -  
Trowa turned and pushed Duo back onto the bed.  
The other man opened his eyes as he fell backwards and chuckled. He propped himself up on his elbows and arched an eyebrow, judging and teasing.  
Trowa joined him on the bed, kissing him again and Duo gripped his hips tightly, pulling him close and thrusting up so that their cocks were trapped together, caught in the friction of the movement and it felt so damn good that Trowa started to forget.  
He lost himself in the sensations enough that he allowed Duo to roll them onto their sides and helped him adjust and when Duo’s mouth closed on his cock, when that velvet heat surrounded him Trowa shuddered.  
Trowa returned the favor, licking and then bobbing his head down Duo’s thicker, shorter cock and the other man moaned around Trowa’s cock.  
Trowa let Duo set a pace and matched it, both of them fast and sloppy and it probably wasn’t the best head either of them had ever had - but it was good enough. Good enough that the glance of Duo’s fingers over Trowa’s perineum had him arching, thrusting into Duo’s mouth and Duo choked but managed to relax, managed to keep Trowa in his mouth.   
Trowa bypassed Duo’s perineum and went for his anus, teasing the tight ring and Duo came as soon as Trowa pushed his index finger inside the tight heat.  
Duo took a moment to recover, releasing Trowa’s cock with a wet plop and sucking in a few deep, shuddering breaths before he returned to his work, deepthroating Trowa and so focused on his task that Trowa came just a moment later and fuck.  
Maybe it was the best head he had ever had.  
It certainly left him numb and his brain blank and his body boneless.  
Afterwards, Duo wedged his head between Trowa’s right arm and his chest and stared up at the ceiling. Trowa allowed himself to tangle his hand in Duo’s hair and he tried hard not to memorize the weight and texture of it.  
“What’s it mean?” Duo asked after a few minutes of silence.  
Trowa wished he didn’t know what he was talking about.  
He sighed.  
“It means there is no freedom. It means the only thing waiting for me is death. And I can’t forget that.”  
Duo did not respond.

 

-o-  
A/N #4: Trowa’s tattoo, Abreit Macht Frei, Work Makes You Free, was a slogan that was widely used under the German Weimar Republic for large scale works projects, with the idea that if you were a criminal or destitute or whatnot you could work and earn your freedom/rise above. The Nazis appropriated this and it was famously made into signs that hung at the entrances to the more death camp work camps during the Holocaust. The sign at Auschwitz was made by the prisoners, and one was erected at Dachau as well as a few others - some other camps had slogans that were equally full of shit.


End file.
